


Mementoes

by coucherdesoleil



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coucherdesoleil/pseuds/coucherdesoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kara Thrace and her past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mementoes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended by this fic. I don't own these characters or this universe and I never will. 
> 
> Rated PG-13
> 
> Please note that this story was written quite some time ago (approximately 2005).

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended by this fic. I don't own these characters or this universe and I never will. (*sob*)  
  
Rated PG-13  
  


NB: Italics indicate characters' thoughts.

* * *

 

  
One of Matt Greentree’s favorite pastimes consisted of observing the people around him. He generally did so with a little more care and attention than his fellows, while at the same time lacking the honesty to examine any aspects of a situation which were less flattering to him and his view of the universe.

At the moment the object of his study was his new shipmate -one Kara Thrace, call sign ‘Starbuck’.

Ever since coming over to Pegasus from that old pile of junkyard pieces which some people called a battlestar, she’d had an attitude. Of course all the people from that damned ship seemed to have an attitude, from Commander Adama on down. Like they were the saviors of the universe or something.

He examined her as she opened her newly assigned locker and pulled out her things out from standard issue baggage that had seen better days. She didn’t have much to put in the locker –that was one thing he noted right off. Then he considered her a bit more closely.

Every pilot he’d ever known had stuff –things they’d hauled with them from posting to posting even before the world blew up and everything changed. Usually their baggage was a combination of utilitarian and not. It was the ‘not’ that gave the most away, really. The mama’s boy could come aboard looking mean and tough, but would have a few homey items tucked in the depths of his bags. Some would have porn to feed their secret kink, or clothing and other items to help them live it. Others had now rare books they couldn’t bear to part with, a few letters, or mementoes of times deep in their heart. The point was that whatever it was, it always revealed something.

He sat back as he watched the woman, trying to figure her out –somewhat like the inanimate puzzles he would put together back home as a kid.

“So, I hear we’ve got The Great Starbuck aboard.” A mocking voice behind Kara said as a small group of pilots entered the Pegasus locker room. Closing her locker and leaning back against it with an air of nonchalance, she slowly turned to face the new arrivals.

“I heard something about you holding the all-time Academy record in the viper sims, but I knew it couldn’t be true. I mean, you couldn’t be that good and have ended up in a dead end slot on a hunk of junk like Galactica. And besides…” The man continued, his voice trailing off as his fellows stood grinning behind him.

“I don’t believe everything I hear. I mean, you probably spread that rumor ‘round yourself, didn’t you?” He added, his handsome face widening into an arrogant grin.

Oh, how she regretted the days not so long ago when she would have let herself go and used physical means to correct this pompous jackass’ mistaken impressions. But times had changed and so had she, and she was trying to turn over a new leaf because a pilot with a disciplinary problem was a useless pilot in wartime.

“Think what you want. I don’t give a frak.” She said shortly, turning back to her locker as she finished tucking away her possessions and tried to ignore the jeers and comments of the other pilots.

As she was about to close her locker, she completed her usual silent ritual and mentally inventoried the contents of her locker. At the bottom of a small nondescript brown cloth bag, lying on the bottom of her locker atop her boots were one tape recording, two small statues, a few paint tubes and brushes and one pilot’s dogtag. Propped into the side of her locker was a photograph.

* * *

 

(Twenty five years ago)

It was growing late and the weather was bitingly cold, but inside where the little girl stood it was warm -warm and filled with love.

“What was that you were playing?” She asked.

“It’s a piece I wrote a little while ago.” Her father mentioned, as he reached down to pull her onto his lap.

“How does hitting the keys make those sounds?” She asked, with all the innate curiosity of a four-year-old. Reaching over, she hit the piano keys with her little hands, grimacing at the clanging noise she made which was so very different from the harmonious creation her father’s fingers had elicited.

“Touching a key causes a little hammer to hit a string inside the instrument.” He watched as her mouth opened into a wide ‘O’ as she pondered this information. “Would you like me to show you how to play?” He asked, and she nodded vigorously. That night was her first music lesson.

Following it came another type of lesson when she found herself playing alone two years later, after he had left her and her mother behind. Her parents’ relationship had deteriorated and Kara’s father had left, promising to keep in touch with his daughter. Aside from one or two letters however, he never did.

When Kara finally accepted this, she never played again -somehow she’d lost the heart that connected her fingers to the keys. It also settled certain disputes in the house, since her mother didn’t like her playing. There was, however, one thing she simply couldn’t give up.

When she was alone, she would sometimes play a tape recording of one of her father’s concerts, and remember that once she’d had a father who loved her.

* * *

 

(Twenty one years ago)

It had been a cold and windy day and night was quickly falling as she walked quietly through the graveyard, watching as the surrounding trees echoed the rhythm of the howling wind.

She had tried to ignore the cold because her mother would most likely still be awake at home, but she was only eight years old. As night fell that cold intensified and began to scratch at her consciousness with its deathly-cold fingers. Shaking, she finally gave up and decided to try to find some kind of shelter.

Seeing a light in the distance, she ran towards it and fell as she tripped over a gravestone. Hissing at the sting arising from her skinned knees, she picked herself up and kept going. As she approached the source of the light she saw that it was a tall building of some kind –a temple.

Stepping up to one of the great metal doors and giving a great heave, she cautiously opened it. Stepping inside she saw that she was within the main room, where the religious services would be held. None were being held at the moment, but she crept forward, mesmerized by the sounds coming from the altar. Kara Thrace had never heard a choir before, and she closed her eyes as she felt the beautiful music glide over her.

“Hello, little one.” A cheerful voice said from behind her and she jumped, quickly turning to face the new arrival.

“Who… Who are you?” Before her was an elderly woman with bright blue eyes, who smiled kindly down at her.

“My name is Sansia. I’m the assigned Priest for this temple.”

“Th… This temple? What temple is it?” Kara asked, her curiosity breaking through her fear.

“Well, it used to be the temple of Artemis, but now it’s a site dedicated to all the Gods. But you must be cold and hungry, child. Can I take back to your home? Your parents must be worried sick about you.” Kara shook her head.

“No. I came alone.” Sansia was quiet for a moment as she took in Kara’s response, her eyes turning sad as they looked down upon the lonely little urchin.

“Come with me.” The woman said, gesturing to Kara that she should follow, somewhat as one would coax a skittish animal. Walking further into the temple, she sat the little girl down on a pew. “Wait here.” She said, and disappeared for a few minutes.

When she returned, she was carrying a bowl of hot soup and a brown cloth bag, slung over an arm. “Here you are, little one. This will warm you up.” As cold and hungry as she was, Kara made short work of the food. Then, turning to look at her companion, her gaze grew wary.

Experience was a good teacher.

The woman, however, only held out the cloth bag. “Open it.” She told Kara softly, and watched as Kara did so. The bag contained two little figurines, one representing Zeus, the other Athena.

Kara looked up at Sansia, who smiled. “So you’ll never be alone.” The woman said. “The Gods will watch over you.” Reaching over to squeeze Kara’s hand, she continued, “And if you ever need help, so will I.”

Kara ran home a few minutes later, the statues clutched to her chest as her mind went through the story of the Gods which she had heard this night for the very first time. For the first time in her eight years of life, Kara Thrace had discovered the meaning of faith and hope.

* * *

 

(Fifteen years ago, during the summer)

Night had fallen and day was only a memory as Kara Thrace came to a stop just outside her mother’s home. Usually if she came home late enough and left early enough, she could dodge her mother and whatever live-in male companion was present at the time. It didn’t always work, but it was one way of avoiding beatings.

As she reached over to retrieve the key she always hid in their mailbox she paused, listening, and heard it again -a scuffling noise, followed by a thud.

Kara broke out into a run –she knew quite well where those sounds were coming from. Making her way through the alley beside their house to the back of the row including it, she ran through the yard to their neighbor Jack Reynold’s house. Without pause, she turned and rammed her shoulder into their back door. The lightweight inner door gave way, and she found herself facing a scene of horror.

Blood lay on the ground along with her neighbor’s wife, Rejeanne. Her husband was standing next to her, chest heaving, having only lately exerted himself.

“You frakking bastard!” Kara cried out, running to the woman’s side. Jack grabbed her arm and thrust her aside.

“Mind your own frakking business you little…” He began, moving towards his wife, when Kara stopped him by thrusting an arm in his direction.

“Do you want her to die? ‘Cause that’d make you guilty of murder.” She pointed out bluntly, her voice shaking. He turned to face her then, a sudden fear coming to life in his faded blue eyes. He obviously hadn’t thought far enough to have considered that possibility.

“I’ll call the medics.” He said hurriedly, and Kara watched as he walked over to the commnet and did so.

Kara moved to sit next to Rejeanne. She had never learned first aid and so she could only sit quietly, holding the woman’s hand.

Kara knew the Reynolds well. Rejeanne, before her recent marriage, had often given Kara a quiet and safe place to stay when so very few people cared about the fate of one lonely and unloved little girl. Kara had already called the city security forces twice –both times, she had lain in bed and heard the woman scream through her bedroom walls.

She went to the hospital and waited, and eventually she received a report that Rejeanne Reynold was going to be all right –for now. Once more, no charges were filed, since Rejeanne was not the type of woman to let other people handle her problems. Kara knew well how easy it was to tell yourself that.

Kara made her way home alone later that night, and waited until she saw light in the Reynold home before making her way over to their house, walking into the kitchen and coming to stand behind Jack.

“What the frak do you want?” He snarled, a blazing anger coming onto his face as he turned and recognized her.

“I want you to stop beating your wife. D’you think you could do that, or is that too difficult a concept for you to grasp?”

His mouth dropped open, as if he couldn’t quite believe her gall. “Listen, you little…” Kara however, had had enough.

Enough of being pushed, enough of being beaten, enough of taking the blame for simply existing. Enough of watching her friend go through the same things, and enough of things always staying the same. And so she grabbed a kitchen knife, and waved it around in front of the man.

His mouth opened even wider when she intentionally slashed her hand on its edge, drawing blood. She kept on with her performance after that, intentionally keeping him off-balance so he wouldn’t gather his wits until she was done.

“Yep. Nice and sharp.” She said with a feral smile as she waved the bloody knife in his direction. “Just like I like ‘em.” She stepped closer to him. “You know, I understand very well what’s going on here –much more than you think. So this is how it’s going to be, since I know your wife is never going to leave you or expose you -so this is probably going to end with her death.”

“Except it’s not going to be that way.” She said, and paused –a menacing expression on her face.

“If I find you’ve touched so much as a hair on her head, I’ll be back. And while I’ll grant you that I’m still young and still much smaller than you there is one thing I do know… And that’s that you need to sleep some time.” She smiled, a grimace full of teeth. “If you do, and if you’ve hurt her, you’d better sleep with both eyes open.”

“’Cause if you don’t, I’ll be waiting. And I’ll get even.” She said, and her grin grew wider as her eyes caught the feeling he couldn’t quite hide from her deep within his.

Fear. Of her.

As she walked out, she slammed the knife into the kitchen counter, feeling it vibrate as it keept time with her rage.

Later, when she reached her mother’s front door and placed her hand on the doorknob, she paused and looked at the door -smeared with the vivid red of her blood.

That day in her fifteenth year was the day Kara Thrace realized who and what she was. It was a day that was a watershed of sorts, both for her and for the people around her, since it was on that day that she finally realized her strength. It was also a day she would later revisit –every single time, in fact, that she would take hold of her painting instruments, and export her anger and pain onto a vivid canvas of color.

* * *

 

(Three years ago)

It wasn’t the first time Kara had taught Basic Flight, and she usually had no difficulty assessing which recruits would make it and which ones would wash out. It was, in truth, one of her many talents as an instructor and it was another one of the reasons why, despite her young age and relative lack of experience, she found herself teaching a course so central to the Academy’s curriculum.

However, there was one time where this particular gift failed her, and that was when a good looking young recruit named Zak Adama walked into her classroom and smiled the friendliest, warmest smile she had ever seen, and worked his way into her heart.

Like his other instructors and his fellow recruits, she hadn’t missed his last name –unlike the others however, it just wasn’t of any great concern to her. On the other hand, she quickly found herself trying to ignore the way his eyes lit up whenever he saw her, how his eyes would follow her footsteps, the way his voice sounded when he said her name. Unfortunately it was a battle she was doomed to lose, and before long they were sneaking around, breaking who knows how many Academy regulations and not caring in the least. She remembered one day in particular…

…They had spent their free afternoon making love, and now lay flushed and momentarily sated in each other’s arms. They began talking of their lives, and he suddenly pulled slightly away from her.

“I don’t want any special treatment.” He had said, and she had reassured him that she had not given him any. But she had lied –for the truth was that she had lied to him and passed him even though he didn’t deserve it, because she cared for him. Just as she had lied to herself for some time prior to his death.

And so all she had left was guilt, guilt over her lies to Zak and to herself. Guilt and painful, shameful memories brought forth by the handsome face of the man who should have been her brother, who somehow, from the very first, stirred her as Zak never could...

…And a single dogtag with her dead lover’s name on it, as well as a photograph of the three of them that she had begun to stare at periodically when felt she needed to revisit her guilt.

* * *

 

(Present day)

Matt Greentree considered his new shipmate as she ignored the jeers of their fellow pilots, turning back to her locker. He watched as she put her mementoes away, a thoughtful expression on her face.

Captain Lee ‘Apollo’ Adama walked into the pilots’ locker room and looked around, his mouth tightening angrily as he divined the general subject of conversation from Thrace’s deliberately nonchalant posture. Bringing his angry glare to bear on the pilots who had been taunting her, he prepared himself to start something when Thrace shot a look in his direction and shook her head, silently telling him not to make an issue out of the situation. Shaking his head, Adama seemed to accept her unspoken rebuke and opened his locker, smiling ruefully at her.

Matt was never certain whether it was his imagination or not, but it somehow seemed that Starbuck’s smile faltered slightly as she looked at the man –an almost automatic reaction which could only come from a place deep down and far away.

Shrugging and turning away from thoughts of his new shipmates as his watch’s alarm rang to indicate a shift change, Matt Greentree left, putting his entertaining pastime aside for when he was next off-duty.

* * *

 

The End


End file.
